


I Can See The Way Painted Beneath The Moon

by A_Tomb_With_A_View



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Asexual Bobby Wilson, Communication, M/M, Multi, Okay like I didn’t actually project much for this, Pining, Reggie Peters Has Fibromyalgia (Julie and The Phantoms), Reggie has fibromyalgia, Smoking, Underaged Smoking, actual healthy conversations, and now we have introspection, but then I felt an emotion for like four seconds, idek what this is, is it underaged if ur dead, it was supposed to be way crackier, underaged drinking, would you believe it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Tomb_With_A_View/pseuds/A_Tomb_With_A_View
Summary: Reggie had never really meant to get into smoking.It was probably Bobby’s fault. Bobby had never smoked cigarettes, always looking for a way to rebel against his parents in a way that didn’t make him the same as them - he smoked weed because they smoked cigarettes and he drank spirits to ignore the beers cans and frozen cocktail mix packets and he went to the gym every morning to prove that he was better than his dad who went on “fitness retreats” - but he always looked so fucking relaxed that Reggie had been curious for a long time before he’d given into the urge.It didn’t become a regular thing.
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters, Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Alex Mercer & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters, Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Reggie Peters, Bobby | Trevor Wilson/Ray Molina, Julie Molina/Luke Patterson/Reggie Peters, Willie/Alex Mercer (mentioned)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 117





	I Can See The Way Painted Beneath The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Okie dokie kids. Do I know what this is? Absolutely fucking not. Did I have any plan for this asides Reggie and Trevor smoking together? No, of course not. Uh... bone apple teeth?  
> Usual disclaimer: fun parents stuff snd fibromyalgia etc is based off my personal experience. I’ve never actually smoked anything bc my lungs are fucked but this was proofread by the wonderful robbstarkmademedoit on tumblr who assures me it’s not too inaccurate but feel free to yell in the comments if I fucked up.  
> Enjoy :))

Reggie had never really meant to get into smoking. 

He wasn’t really into it, per se, but… well, it was supposed to be a one time thing, and it definitely wasn’t that anymore. 

It had been pretty fucking awful the first time, and even now he couldn’t figure out what had possessed him to try again. 

It was probably Bobby’s fault. Bobby had never smoked cigarettes, always looking for a way to rebel against his parents in a way that didn’t make him the same as them - he smoked weed because they smoked cigarettes and he drank spirits to ignore the beers cans and frozen cocktail mix packets and he went to the gym every morning to prove that he was better than his dad who went on “fitness retreats” - but he always looked so fucking relaxed that Reggie had been curious for a long time before he’d given into the urge. He didn’t have the same reservations as Alex, not too fussed about what it did to his lungs - his nerves were already fucked, and if he got it together for long enough to see a therapist or a psychologist, they’d probably say the same about his head, and he  _ really  _ didn’t want to know what nights of keeping Bobby company had done to his liver - and the smell had never really bothered him too much. 

The first time had just been at a party, when the noise had gotten too much, and Alex wasn’t there for him to hide with because Alex had gotten dragged upstairs by a dude that was  _ way  _ too fit for him, who was still in the gangly stage of a growth spurt, and someone had offered, and his mind had immediately turned to how relaxed people tended to look when they had one. 

It had sucked, and he’d near coughed up a lung, and he hadn’t touched another one until six months after his fibromyalgia diagnosis at one am when the sleep meds had started to not work so well, and the idea of doing anything that could chill him out the way cigarettes seemed to chill some people out was suddenly incredibly tempting. 

He’d grabbed the box his mom kept on the mantelpiece, and climbed up onto the roof. It had also sucked that time, but not quite as much as the first time, and the repetitive motion, the  _ need  _ to breathe slowly, it calmed him, just a little. 

It didn’t become a regular thing. 

Reggie was awful at forming habits, and things that were labelled addictive never really seemed to stick for him. He’d go months without one and be perfectly happy, the same way he could go months without a drop of alcohol, and like the time he’d survived the whole summer without seeing Bobby, Alex  _ or  _ Luke, because his parents had decided three months away was the best way to fix the shambles that was left of their marriage, or when he’d gone for six weeks without a single painkillers because they were starting to sound a little too tempting. And then he’d have one or two, when things got stressful, just like he’d have a couple of Cosmos when Bobby decided it was Time To Not Think, just like he’d crash at Alex’s when his parents stopped deciding it was time for their son to get back into singing in the church choir and like he’d crash at Luke’s when his mom got over thinking they were a bunch of bad influences wrapped in denim and leather, just like he’d get the box of leftover painkillers out from under his bed and take one when the pain got bad. The glowing end was something to focus on while the rest of the world blurred out of focus, and the steady inhale-hold-exhale in time with the tides crashing only a hundred meters away sometimes felt like the only thing holding him together. 

——

Dying sucked. 

Dying sucked because things still hurt and he couldn’t take anything to stop it, and it sucked because he missed Bobby like he missed being able to swim and feel his hair plaster to his forehead, and it sucked because even when the stress piled up, he couldn’t have a drink, or a smoke, or crash for a few hours. 

He knew the itch of exhaustion in his eyes was psychosomatic, and he knew he’d never been addicted to any of the things, because he’d gone longer without them than he’d been dead, but everything he’d known was gone, and every single crutch he’d built for himself was a million miles away. 

He didn’t have lungs, or a digestive system, or his best friend. He had Luke and Alex, sure, but, Alex couldn’t see anything for Willie, and Luke and Reggie and Julie had this… dating thing going on that he didn’t want to poison, and as much as being around them was a balm for his soul, they’d always branched into  _ Alex&Luke  _ and  _ Bobby&Reggie  _ when it had come to coping with things _.  _ Alex and Luke still had each other to ruminate about dying with, and Reggie was so fucking happy for them, he’d never begrudge either of them for anything, but Bobby was a forty minute drive and twenty five years away, and when Luke and Alex pulled him into group hugs and rambled their theories for the afterlife, Reggie felt like he’d never missed Bobby more _.  _ Reggie loved Alex like he loved water and he loved Luke like he loved breathing, but he’d always had a tumultuous relationship with how the currents wanted to drag him under and inhaling too much or too hard always made his ribs ache. Bobby had been rough and brash and callous and sometimes the insults he’d flung when people got too close burned and bruised and scarred, but Reggie was no stranger to pain, and it had made him real, and solid, and attainable. 

Bobby had told Reggie things he knew hadn’t been passed onto Alex and Luke, because Alex would worry until Kingdom come and Luke would try and burn the world down for them and neither would help, not really, and Reggie had told him things that he hadn’t shared with them in return. 

Alex and Luke’s lives had gotten more difficult as they got older, what with Alex’s parents not accepting him for who he loved and Luke’s mom not accepting him for what he loved, but they’d never quite get it. 

Alex had had to wrestle with the concept that his parents unconditional love might not be quite so unconditional, but Reggie had known from the first time his dad had said  _ Yeah, Reg, d’y’know what? This one is your fault, you really couldn’t help yourself, could you?  _ That his parents loved and resented him in equal amounts, and they were never quite going to be able to relate to each other. Reggie’s world would never be able to come crashing down the way Alex’s had and Alex would never quite know the never-ending exhaustion of growing up surrounded by love-turned-hate. 

Luke had had to watch as his mom grew from his biggest fan to his most staunch doubter, someone who didn’t believe in what he could do and who he could reach, who couldn’t find it in herself to want happiness for her son instead of success, but Bobby’s parents had never cared either way, it was always  _ c’mon Robert, it wouldn’t kill you to drop a couple classes and help out around the house, would it?  _ And  _ Jesus Robert, we really don’t have the time for you to be dilly-dallying with that fucking guitar,  _ and the two of them were never quite going to be able to reach each other. Luke had fought with his mom endlessly, had watched their relationship crumble and fail under the stress of their attempt at three-legged racing down different paths, and Bobby had never had a relationship to destroy. 

Bobby and Reggie got each other a bit more, just like Alex and Luke had got each other a bit more. Reggie had never begrudged either of them for it, and he loved them endlessly and without fail, but there’d always be things he didn’t want to burden them with, times when he wanted to be understood without explanation, and while he was glad they didn’t have the experiences to be able to provide that, he missed feeling known. 

Plus, telling Luke would mean telling Julie, and as much as Reggie loved them, as much as he wanted to explore what they had and see where it went, it was so delicate and fragile and  _ new,  _ that he couldn’t bring himself to reveal the… sharper sides of him just yet, not while Luke and Julie saw him as something soft and harmless that couldn’t hurt them. One day, they’d brush against him and come away bleeding, but he wanted to stave that off for as long as possible.

——

Semi-undying was an interesting experience. 

He could hug and kiss Julie for starters, which was  _ amazing _ , and he could braid her hair when she let him, and hold her hand as they wandered through LA, and when she borrowed his and Luke’s sweaters they came back smelling of lavender and the coconut oil she put on her hair, and it was  _ everything _ . They curled up together when they watched movies the boys didn’t like, and she fell asleep on him when he helped with her maths homework, and she kicked her feet into his lap when she was plastered against Luke’s side and laid across the pair of them when it was Reggie that was pushed up against Luke.

Then there was Ray and Carlos and Tia Victoria, who could  _ see  _ him, and touch him, and they called him  _ mijo _ and  _ hermanito,  _ and held ice packs for him when he couldn’t stay solid enough to hold them himself and they made him his favourite foods and reminded him they loved him even when he didn’t need it.

Bobby suddenly seemed like a lot more of a possibility. Four months and twenty five years ago, Bobby had been something of Reggie’s  _ what-if,  _ and at first that was what kept him away - Bobby would be forty two now, and Reggie was forever seventeen and dating  _ Luke,  _ and Bobby-Trevor’s friend’s daughter, and they’d been heading. Well, Reggie couldn’t say for certain, but he thought they’d been heading  _ somewhere.  _ For him, it had been days, then weeks, then months ago that he’d been sharing a stage with a boy he was pretty sure he would’ve been able to fall in love with. For Trevor it had been years,  _ decades.  _ A quarter of a century. At first - well, after the whole song “stealing” debacle that Julie had helped them rationalise pretty quickly - it had been a deterrent. He didn’t want to see Bobby and be reminded of what he’d lost out on, even if what he’d gained was pretty fucking spectacular. Once he got past that, and remembered that before things had gotten… different, Bobby had been his best friend. He couldn’t imagine not wanting to find Alex and Luke if the situation was switched. He’d needed the three of them like he’d needed air, and even though he’d stopped breathing, his chest continued to rise and fall.

It was just… it had been so  _ long.  _ Reggie had been undead for four months by the time they played the Orpheum, Bobby - Trevor - in the audience, and Reggie hadn’t tried to reach out to him asides a mild haunting.

If Bobby had died, and come back after twenty five years, and then not reached out to him for four months, Reggie… well, he didn’t know what he’d do, but he imagined he’d feel pretty fucking shit once he found out. 

“Hey… um. Ray. Do you think you could drive me to Trevor Wilson’s house?” Reggie asked, a few days after their Orpheum performance. Trevor had yet to come to the Molinas’ house, but Reggie knew he’d probably want - and definitely deserved - an explanation. “I don’t. If you text him, he’ll have time to prepare, I don’t wanna force myself on him.”

“Of course, mijo,” Ray agreed, ruffling his hair. “Give me twenty minutes to text him and make breakfast, and then we’ll go.”

——

The first few minutes of rambling over each other, trying their best to explain everything that’s happened - Bobby using their music, Reggie not reaching out, Bobby having a  _ daughter  _ when Reggie knew even the idea of sex had always made him turn an interesting shade of green, Reggie having accidentally inserted himself into a family that knew Bobby as Trevor and kissing Luke  _ and  _ Julie - were… awkward. 

Once they’d got everything out though - Bobby was the last one left to “own” the songs and he wouldn’t have used them if he hadn’t been pushed, Reggie was just scared of seeing him and not seeing his best friend, Bobby having a drunken one night stand when he’d gotten obliterated on the anniversary of their deaths, the whole backstory of how they’d arrived at Julie’s, the long and convoluted tale of Luke actually bei able to communicate and Julie demanding their honestly if not their reciprocation- it was easier, kind of. 

It was still a little jilted, because Reggie was seventeen and Bobby was forty two and it was kind of hard to ignore the beard and the extra few inches, and how fucking  _ tired _ he looked, and because Alex and Luke weren’t there, and sure they had split into groups, the same groups, usually, but at the end of the day it had always been the four of them, and as much as Reggie had relished his time alone with Bobby, the four of them had been a  _ family.  _

Eventually, Reggie broke. “Got a cigarette?” 

Bobby blinked. “Um. Yeah? Wait, can you even breathe? Is air moving when your chest inflates or is it just psychosomatic?” 

“I have no idea, but it’s been twenty five and a half years, so if you could be so kind,” Reggie said, making himself at home on the window seat. When Bobby didn’t move, he rolled his eyes. “C’mon, man, it’s not exactly gonna kill me, is it?” 

“I fucking hate you,” Bobby muttered, rooting through a drawer until he found a box and tossed it across the room to Reggie. “I don’t even fucking know anybody who smokes cigarettes.” 

“Then why’d you even have any?” Reggie asked absently, waiting for Bobby to sit back down before kicking his legs into his lap. 

“Sentiment?” Bobby shrugged. “You better open the fucking window.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Reggie nodded. “Got a light?” 

“Duh.” Bobby tossed him a lighter and leaned back, tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling. “God it’s so weird that you’re seventeen. Or maybe it’s weird that you’re alive. I don’t know, it’s fucking with my head, whatever it is.” 

Reggie hummed his agreement as he pushed open the window and held the flame up to the end of the cigarette. Even the beginning of the process was soothing, in a weird kind of ritualistic way. “Tell me about it. They have eight new Star Wars films.  _ Eight.  _ And there’s a series about baby Yoda. DVDs were, like, just becoming a thing when we died, and now they’ve been replaced by online thingymajigs. You have a  _ daughter.  _ Like… an actual human being consisting of just under fifty percent of your DNA, and she was born like a week after  _ my girlfriend. _ ”

Bobby snorted. “Of course you’re hung up on Star Wars.”

“Hey,” Reggie complained, pausing to take a long drag. “They added a character named fucking Jar Jar, I need some time to process that.” 

“Fair play,” Bobby conceded. “Have you seen High School Musical, yet?” 

Reggie squinted, trying to think of everything Julie had sat them through recently. “Uh.., no? I don’t think so, anyway.”

“The fuck is Julie thinking? There’s three of them, absolute classics,” Bobby told him. “Can’t believe she hasn’t showed you them.”

Reggie nodded slowly, eyes focused on the glowing tip of the paper. “I’ll tell her to add ‘em to the list. God, I missed this.”

“Me or the cig?” Bobby joked, and Reggie chose to ignore the thread of tension in his voice.

“Both, obviously.” Reggie closed his eyes. “So, had your eye on anyone of late?” 

Bobby spluttered for a moment. “Reg-”

“A, I’m not jealous, Bee, it’s been twenty five years and I’m not saying Lukey and Jules are an upgrade, but you’re no spring chicken, B, that’s a yes, ‘fess up,” Reggie coaxed. 

“You’re not gonna like it,” Bobby said slowly, and Reggie opened his eyes. “Like… at all.”

“Ray?” Reggie guessed, grinning when Bobby turned a brilliant shade of red. He still blushed the same, even if it was hidden behind laugh lines and the beard. “Checks out.” 

Bobby groaned. “What does that even mean?” 

“Oh, are you gonna tell me you  _ don’t _ have a thing for fairly lithe dumbasses who are actually smart? Maybe with a dash of musical talent and a penchant for forgetting things?” Reggie teased, stubbing the cigarette out on the windowsill. “Because if So, you’re a dirty fucking liar.” 

Reggie watched with amusement as a series of emotions flickered across Bobby’s face, finally ending with a weird mish-mash of horror and defeat. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “I have a type, don’t I?” 

“Twenty bucks says Carrie’s mom is lithe, musical, and a bit of a dumbass,” Reggie wagered, shifting until he was laid plastered against Bobby’s side. 

Bobby didn’t even say anything, just grabbed his wallet and pulled out a twenty, handing it over without a word. 

Reggie patted his arm gently. “It’s okay, Beebob. At least you’ve still got options. Imagine if I’d had to find a ghost-boxer who was an asshole that was nice to me but picked on Luke?” 

Bobby snorted. “Don’t kid yourself, Regbert, you had a thing for all of us at some point, your type is mildly traumatised idiot who thinks you’re funny. Exhibit A, you’re dating Luke and Julie.” 

“Ouch, Booby,” Reggie laughed, clutching his chest in mock offence. “That hurt.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” Bobby challenged, holding up the lighter in offer. 

Reggie shook his head. “Honestly? Probably not. Anyway, this started as being about you, so, what are your plans for wooing Ray?” 

Bobby choked on his tongue. “My plans for  _ what?”  _

“Wooing Ray,” Reggie repeated, grinning. “Oh, c’mon, Beebob. Don’t pretend you don’t have some wonderful plan of romancing him. I  _ saw  _ the one you had for me, before we died, remember? Are you gonna do the same thing? Take him to the movies? Kiss his cheek goodnight? Text him a compliment every day?” 

Bobby groaned and buried his head in his hands. “God, I’m far too fucking sober for this. Heads or tails?” 

Reggie let his smile relax a little. He was well versed in this game. Heads was alcohol, letting everything get blurred and heavy until feelings didn’t exist. Tails was a joint, Bobby letting his emotions drift off until they were something he could choose to feel in full force or completely ignore. Reggie wasn’t a fan, so he’d probably end up with another cigarette. He thought about it for a moment. “Heads?” 

“You gotcha.” Bobby dragged him through to the kitchen, not even hesitating to reach out and grab his jacket as he stood up, as if he’d already forgotten than Reggie was… dead. “God, Lukey would probably faint if he saw my wine cellar. You still a cocktails man?”

“Not had any time to change my taste,” Reggie reminded him fondly. “Whatcha got for me?” 

Bobby hummed, opening a cupboard to reveal an extensive liquor collection and a cocktail lit. “I make a mean Negroni?” 

“Ooh, I could go for gin,” Reggie agreed. “You evolved from shots, yet?” 

“I can handle a champagne?” Bobby said, the end tilted up like a quiestion, grabbing a tumbler and the fanciest looking bottle of gin Reggie had ever seen. “Always gonna prefer a whiskey on the rocks, or shots, can’t be helped.” 

Reggie laughed, leaning against the doorframe at an awkward angle to avoid any contact with his ribs or shoulder blades as he watched Bobby make up the cocktail. “So, you should totally take Ray out for dinner.”

“Reg, hon,” Bobby said gently, flashing Reggie a small, slightly sad smile. “We’ve got kids, and lives, and I’m currently making his new child a cocktail and am probably about to give him the second cigarette of the afternoon in twenty minutes. It’s not as easy as dating at seventeen.”

“As I remember it, you couldn’t manage it then, either,” Reggie muttered, though he had to admit Bobby raised valid points. 

Bobby rolled his eyes, handing over the class before pouring what Reggie estimated to be at least a cup of whiskey into a mug. “You were attempting to get out of an emotionally abusive household while going through some mild medical trauma, and I was essentially housing you,” he reminded him, squeezing his shoulder. “I didn’t want to make myself not an option if anything happened.” 

“I know, I know,” Reggie muttered, flashing Bobby a smile to make sure he knew that Reggie understood. He’d known at the time that they’re hadn’t really been a possibility of  _ them _ , and that there wouldn’t be one until they were all on equal footing. He sipped his drink. “Damn, Bobbers, this is good shit. How much was the gin?” 

Bobby turned a faint pink, and scrubbed the back of his neck. “Hundred bucks, or so?” 

Reggie choked on his next sip. “Jesus, fuck. Who hurt you?”

“You guys died, bro,” Bobby reminded him, waving the lighter as he put it down on the coffee table in clear offer. “Then I spent, like, three years in a bender, Ray and Rose were wonderful, I had a daughter, and now I’m a rockstar who can afford expensive gin.” 

Reggie hummed thoughtfully, then grabbed the lighter. He’d finish the drink first, because he didn’t want to ruin the taste of $100 gin, but another cigarette would probably sit nicely after that. “That’s valid. I wish I could afford expensive gin.” 

Bobby eyed him weirdly. “Why? You’re dead, kid. Just... take it?” 

“I can’t just steal it,” Reggie protested, laying back on the window seat. “What if the seller needs the money to survive? That’s so mean.”

Bobby shook his head, laughing. “I meant from me, dickhead.” 

“Ohhhh… yeah. That makes sense. I will do.” 

Bobby rolled his eyes and shoved Reggie’s shoulder fondly. “Just don’t let Lukey near my wine collection without me there. He’ll have two sips and be gone, and if I’m funding it, I deserve to see it.” 

“Fair enough,” Reggie agreed, finishing his drink. It burned going down, but the good kind, instead of making him feel sick, he just felt a touch closer to being alive. 

Bobby ruffled his hair. “So, how’s being dead?”

Reggie shrugged, holding the lighter to the end of the cigarette he’d grabbed from the carton as he considered it for a moment. “Weird,” he said, pausing to take a long drag. “Sometimes it’s like… I forget I’m dead and I can touch people and hold things, and some days it’s the complete opposite and every time I try to grab Julie’s hand and pass through I’m reminded that I’m just some fucky energy.” 

Before Bobby could reply, the door swung open. “What in the  _ fuck _ is going on?” Ray asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Reggie glanced at Bobby at the same time as Bobby looked at him, and they both shrugged, turning back to Ray, voices high pitched when they spoke, Reggie dropping the cigarette out onto the windowsill as subtly as he could. “Uh….”

“Please tell me you’re not smoking again, Trev,” Ray said after a moment, something painfully close to heartbreak flickering across his face.

The bottom of Reggie’s stomach dropped out and he almost ran through the coffee table as he jumped up. “No, no, it was me, Ray, Bobbit didn’t smoke anything, I promise.”

Ray softened, a little. “Reg, mijo, you don’t have to co-”

“I’m not,” he insisted. “Beebob doesn’t even  _ like  _ cigarettes. He has a thing against them. Parental rebellion and all that. It was just me. Habit and all that. It’s not like it’s gonna kill me.” 

Ray winced. “I… can’t argue that one.” He pointed over Reggie’s shoulder to Bobby, who still looked like an odd mix of a five year old with his hand in the biscuit tin and someone who’d just been through the emotional ringer. “No more heart attacks from you, please. Hijo de puta, Trev, just text me if I’m gonna walk into a room that smells like smoke, next time.” 

Bobby nodded quickly, looking more guilty than Reggie had ever seen him. “Yeah, no, you’re right, that was shit of me, I’m sorry. I’ll. if you’re okay with Reg - I mean, you’re not his dad properly, but, y’know, your roof and whatever, if you’re okay with him doing this and stuff, I’ll let you know.”

Reggie crossed his arms. “Bee, I will steal your- oh my god.. are you gonna be-?” 

Ray just looked confused, but Bobby had evidently still retained Sunset Curve Hivemind™️, because he scowled, draining the rest of his mug in one go. “No, shut the fuck up.” 

——

Reggie turned the radio off halfway back to the Molinas’ house. “So… you’re totally crushing on Bobby-bear, right?”

Ray choked on air. “What?” 

“Oh, c’mon, man, I know what it looks like when someone’s crushing on him, I did it for, like, four months,” Reggie pressed. “You totally like him.” 

“I’m forty two, that’s ridiculous,” Ray dismissed. “I don’t “crush” on people, and especially not my oldest friends, and the father of one of my daughter’s least favourite people.”

Reggie snorted, crossing his legs so his knees were resting on the dash. “Ray, I know what it looks like when people are into Bobbit. I’ve wingmanned for him, I mediated Luke’s weird thing for him in sixth grade, and I was into him for, like, six months. I’m telling you, you’re into him.”

Ray was silent for at least a full minute, and Reggie watched as realisation dawned on his face. “ _ Coño.”  _

Reggie cackled, resting his head back against the chair. “Welcome to the  _ I crushed on Bobby Wilson club.”  _

“I’m forty two, it’s not a crush,” Ray reiterated, tone defeated. “And it’s not going to happen, is it?”

“Uh… why not?” 

“Because he’s a rockstar, and he has a daughter who my daughter hates,” Ray explained patiently. “And, because I am this close to calling you son, by accident, and I physically cannot date your ex boyfriend, it’s just…  _ wrong.”  _

Reggie pulled a face. “Firstly, he’s a nerd, secondly, Carrie and Jules are teenage girls they’re weird and scary, but they’ll probably get over it, and they love you both a lot anyway so they’d get over it for you, and thirdly, I would totally cool with Booby being my stepdad, we never dated, it was just a  _ thing. _ Besides, I’m  _ currently  _ dating Luke and your daughter, so... _ ”  _

Ray rolled his eyes fondly. “I know, I know. It’s just a stupid thing, though,” he insisted. “It’s not going anywhere, because we have children to raise, and careers, and no time for this kind of thing.”

“But-”

“And no parent trapping,” Ray interrupted, pointing a finger, eyes still trained on the road. “No parent trapping. Also, you and Luke both crushed on Bobby?” 

Reggie nodded slowly. “Uh, yeah?” 

“Wanna tell me what he and my daughter have in common, then?” Ray asked.

Reggie groaned. “It’s a long, twisty explanation, that I don’t think you want to hear.”

“You think wrong, then, mijo. We’re still twenty minutes away, get going.”

——

“Jules, light of my life,” Reggie started, throwing himself onto the sofa next to Julie. “What’s parent-trapping?” 

Julie raised both eyebrows, and tugged at his jacket until he laid down with his head in her lap. “It’s based on this film, about these twins that were, like, separated at birth, who meet and decide that they want to get their parents back together, and basically engineer a meet-cute with their mom and dad. Why’d you wanna know?” She explained, carding her fingers through his hair. 

Reggie shrugged as best he could, eyes closing. “Ray told me I’m not allowed to parent-trap him and. Bobby, so I need to know what my limits are.” 

Julie’s hands paused in his hair. “You want to match make my dad and Trevor?” 

“I have confirmation from both of them that there’s feelings,” Reggie said instead of agreeing. He opened one eye. “Why’d you stop that was nice?” 

“Uh, because you just said you wanna match-make my dad and  _ Carrie’s  _ dad?” Julie flicked his forehead. “I don’t even know if dad is… y’know, ready for that kind of thing.” 

Reggie opened his other eye and took Julie’s hand, squeezing gently once he’d laced his fingers with hers. “Jules, he’s not gonna forget your mom. Neither is Bobby. And it’s hardly gonna be all at once. They’re awkward idiots, it’ll take.. like… a decade for them to actually kiss.” 

She laughed, shoving him gently until he was sat up semi-normally, then rested her forehead against his shoulder after kissing his jaw lightly. “I just don’t want him to rush into anything he’s not ready for, y’know?” 

“I know, Julie-bean. Ish, I’m not really a relationship expert, as you may have guessed, but I promise I’ll come to you before I do anything, and you can give me the go ahead,” he promised, tugging on her braid lightly. “Okay?”

Julie inhaled shakily and nodded. “Yeah. Can we just. I don’t know, talk about something dumb for a bit?” 

“Oh, you have so come to the right place, babe.” He played with the end of her hair, winding a stray curl around his finger. “‘Lexie is trying to learn to skateboard to impress Willie.”

“No…” Julie breathed, sitting back. “I… surely not?”

Reggie shrugged, grinning. “That’s where Lukey is now, trying to teach him. He can’t skate  _ amazing  _ either, but I wanted to hang out with you, so he’s Al’s current best bet.” 

“Aw, Reg.” Julie leaned forward to kiss him. “That’s cute.” 

Reggie felt his cheeks burn. “I’m not cute, you’re cute.” 

Julie pulled back enough to stick her tongue out without licking him. “I’m pretty sure if we asked Luke he’d say we’re both cute.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an idiot,” Reggie reminded her teasingly, pulling her back in slowly. “Shouldn’t be trusted.”

“That’s true,” she murmured against his lips. “He  _ did  _ choose to spend time with Al instead of us.”

“I don’t know, Jules, I think we’re doing pretty well out of it.”

Julie rolled her eyes, sliding a hand up into his hair. “Oh, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

——

“- and then he was like, oh, do you wanna get dinner some time,” Bobby said, seemingly angry, but Reggie knew it only looked like that because it was Bobby’s default emotion. He was like a processor. No matter what you fed in, anger would always come out, first, until he’d had long enough to steep in the experience that the flavour of softer emotions and more delicate sensations finally bled through. “Like. Obviously I want to go to dinner, but you can’t just ask me while we’re shopping for Carlos’ birthday in fucking Target!” 

Reggie snorted, tapping his cigarette against the outside of the windowsill to knock off the ash. He knew Luke and Alex had been to visit earlier, but as much as he knew they knew about his afternoons spent at Bobby’s side like it’s 1994, cigarette in one hand and martini glass in the other - now that their clothes actually exist, they carry scent, and cigarette smoke is a hard smell to hide - there was a part of him that didn’t want to actually face the reality of them knowng. “Where would you rather he asked you? In the middle of the street with a flower? In your living room while you dance to a vinyl? You’re as unromantic as they come, Bee, you would’ve hated anything else.”

Bobby rolled his eyes, pouring vodka into a chipped mug. “Well, yeah, but I dropped my fucking cheese wheel.”

Reggie paused, squinting at Bobby. “Aren’t you lactose intolerant?” 

“.... Carrie likes cheese, okay?” Bobby scowled. “And I’m a nice person, so I buy her cheese.” 

“Aw, Bobbers.” Reggie patted his shoulder. “You’re so sweet. I wish Ray bought me cheese.”

“Bitch, Ray invited Vicky over to makes quesadillas for your birthday, shut the fuck up,” Bobby said immediately.

Reggie giggled to himself, then attempted to calm himself down to take a drag. 

Bobby didn’t move an inch to help when he failed, and ended up coughing for a full minute. 

“So, you said yes, right?” Reggie asked, once he’d managed to stop spluttering. “If you said no I’m gonna cry real tears.” 

Bobby suddenly took extreme interest in the rim of his mug. “I. Uh. I said, okay, bet?”

Reggie blinked, mouthing the words slowly as if they’d make any more sense like that. After a minute of trying to figure it out, he gave up. “What?”

Bobby paused, then laughed softly into his glass. “It just means, like, sure. Care says it a lot, i guess i picked it up from her.”

Reggie nodded slowly, then looked up sharply, cigarette halfway to his mouth. “You said  _ Okay, sure?  _ To the guy you’re, like… head over heels for?”

“If he wanted a scream and tears, he asked out the wrong guy,” Bobby reminded him, voice rough from draining the his mug. “Besides, I’m not head over heels, you’re head over heels. You think i don’t see the fucking tub of chewing gum in your jacket pocket? Do you even have breath?” 

Reggie felt his cheeks burn. “Not exactly? But, I do have a tongue, and cheeks, and I don’t want to get questioned.”

Bobby raised both eyebrows. “Dude your jacket is probably seeped in the stuff. And your hair. If you’re not getting interrogated to fuck it’s because Al can’t be fucked, and because Luke and Julie don’t want to push you too far.” 

“Yeah…” Reggie sighed and finished his drink, laying down so his head was pillowed on Bobby’s leg. “I know.”

“You ever gonna talk to ‘em about it?” 

“Probably.” Reggie shrugged as best he could. “Give It a few months, see if they grow bored of me. If they don’t, then sure.” 

Bobby flicked his forehead. “Hey, that’s my goddaughter you’re doubting there.” 

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Reggie sat up, snatching the bottle off the floor and pouring a significant amount into his discarded glass and downing it in one, then coughed into his elbow as his eyes watered. “Why would you remind me of that?” 

Bobby snorted. “Sorry, kid.”

“I hate you,” Reggie mumbled, taking a long drag. “Oh that’s gross. I’m, like, simultaneously thirty five and one year older than my girlfriend, oh god.”

“Dude, you’re made of  _ air,”  _ Bobby reminded him, lips flattened as he attempted - badly - to conceal laughter. “You sat in a room for an hour, not twenty five years.”

“Woke up twenty five years later,” Reggie muttered as he laid back down, attempting to blow a smoke ring. He’d never been any good at it, but it was always a fun distraction. “Time doesn’t move differently in different places.”

“Wait til you here about black holes, Reg.” Bobby raked his fingers through Reggie’s hair. Ray did the same thing, sometimes, when Reggie plucked up the courage to lay down the same way with him. “They’ll blow your little nineties mind. Anyways,” he added pointedly, when Reggie opened his mouth to ask. “No changing the subject. Talk to Julie and Luke. If you hurt my goddaughter, I will have to attempt to rekill you.”

Reggie gasped, clutching his chest with his freehand playfully, ignoring the pain of his fingertips digging into his breastbone. “I don’t get an old-flame free pass?”

“Oh, you do,” Bobby joked. “But you used that one up on the hurting-the-daughter-of-the-guy-I’m-seeing thing. And then the oldest-friend free pass is used up by the whole hurting-one-of-my-other-oldest-best-friends gig.” 

Reggie nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s fair, that’s fair. What do I even say? Sup, babe, hon, I’ve actually got a shit tonne of issues that I don’t really wanna discuss with you, so I go and smoke and drink with a dude I almost dated like twenty five years ago, and who’s six months younger than me but also twenty five years older, because he’s the only person I know who’s fucked up in a similar way, even though I don’t actually have lungs or a digestive system?” 

“....yeah.” Bobby nodded, making a considering face. “That about sums it up.” 

Reggie paused. “Wait, shit. Really?” 

“I know neither of us are very good at it, but that is about the long and short of how communication works.” Bobby’s tone was gentle, and Reggie knew he wasn’t just implying that the pair of them weren’t good communicators. If communication was really that easy then why in god’s fucking name hadn’t his parents ever been able to do it for long enough to get a divorce? Why hadn’t Bobby’s parents been able to communicate that they loved him once in a while? 

“I’ll tell em,” Reggie promised slowly, watching Bobby’s face carefully. “I’ll tell them if you talk to Ray about how you actually feel, instead of  _ Okay, beet,  _ or whatever.” 

“Okay,” Bobby agreed, voice weird like it always got when he was trying to convey way more confidence than he felt. “Sure. No biggie, right?” 

“Exactly.” Reggie nodded. “We’ve totally got this.”

Bobby offered his hand, held at a weird angle so Reggie wouldn’t have to move too much to shake it. “Same time next week, if we’ve both told them, I will buy the most expensive tequila I can find. If only you’ve told them, I’ll buy Julie a car, because I  _ know  _ you have a thing for cars, you little weirdo, and if only I’ve told Ray, you have to drink near whiskey.”

Reggie groaned and pulled a face, but shook Bobby’s hand anyway. “I fucking hate whiskey.”

“Oh, I know.” 

——

“So, whatcha got to tell us, Regbert?” Luke asked, throwing an arm around Reggie’s shoulder and kissing his jaw lightly.

Julie setting on his other side, throwing his legs over his lap. “You okay, Reg?” 

Reggie breathed out slowly and nodded. “Yeah. Um. Right. So, I’m sure you’ve noticed, y’know. The whole-”

“Smokey smell?” Luke asked, winding a chunk of Reggie’s hair around his finger. Reggie looked at him sharply, but Luke waved him off. “I’m not mad, button.” 

“Right, right.” Reggie relaxed back against him, letting Julie play with his fingers, twisting his rings and tracing the patterns of calluses. “So. The Smokey thing. It’s just. I have, um. A few issues? And I want, maybe, like, one day, to talk to you guys about it, but… y’know. It’s hard to talk about?” 

“Hey, that’s okay,” Julie reassured, scritching the back of his neck lightly. “You don’t have to tell us anything.” 

“What Jules said,” Luke agreed, tugging at Reggie’s hair until he was at such an angle that Luke could kiss his forehead. “We just want you to be happy.” 

Reggie nodded, resting his head on Luke’s shoulder despite the uncomfortable angle. “It’s… me and Bibble used to talk about it all, before. We don’t have the same problems, but they’re similar enough. We get each other, different to how you guys get me. Smoking’s just… I liked the way it felt, back when, y’know, I had lungs and nerves. Something to focus on and make myself breathe, y’know? Now it’s just… something to do when me and Bobs are talking about stuff. Less awkward when there’s something to do.” 

“That makes sense, button,” Luke told him fondly, catching Julie’s hand and lacing his fingers with hers on Reggie’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’ve got each other again. You always did talk to each other about stuff like that.” 

“‘S nothing against you guys,” Reggie said, kissing Luke’s shoulder. “It’s just easier.”

“I get that. There are loads of things I’d rather talk to Flynn about than you guys. It’s just how friends work.” Julie moved her legs and shuffled until she was leant against Reggie’s side. “I’m pretty sure I’d go to Al about stuff I wouldn’t go to you guys about as well. We’re not offended, babe.”

Luke nodded, then rested his head on Reggie’s. “I love you both.”

Reggie smiled to himself, and closed his eyes. “I love you, too. And you, Jules. Love you.”

Julie leaned forward to kiss Reggie’s cheek, missing and catching the underside of his jaw. “I love you both, too.” 

——

“So, what’s it gonna be?” Bobby asked as soon as Reggie arrived at his. “Am I buying whiskey or vodka?” 

“Whoop!” Reggie grinned, offering a hand for a high five. “Vodka, Boobs. We’re drinking like kings.”

Bobby snorted. “I don’t think kings drink like this. The most expensive tequila I found was $3.5 million, man. God, I can’t believe I’m gonna spend that much on fucking  _ tequila,  _ man. I don’t even like tequila that much.”

“A, it’s the price of communication, Beebob,” Reggie joked. “B, you can afford it, and C, you love margaritas, so…” 

“No, you love margaritas,” Bobby admitted. “I can deal with them. Luke and Al hate tequila, too.”

Reggie felt his jaw go slack. “But tequila is our drink?” 

Bobby rolled his eyes, holding out his phone so Reggie could press the buy button. “You’re so lucky you can play bass. And that you’re cute, I’m pretty sure that’s why Luke is keeping you around.”

Reggie just shrugged. “Yeah, probably. I am  _ really  _ cute.”

“Sure, Regibald,” Bobby said, pushing Reggie’s head forward playfully. “Sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated if you enjoyed :))


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